


Such a Soul, When Laid Open

by Boots (pwnmercys)



Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Biting, Deaf Moritz (mentioned), Face Slapping, Frenemies with Benefits, Humiliation kink, M/M, Masochism, PWP, SA Rarepairs Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-23 21:18:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8343169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pwnmercys/pseuds/Boots
Summary: “Melchior Gabor. I’ve seen that look on your face before.”
“I’m stuck in my head, okay?”  Melchior sighed, “I need to stop thinking.”
-----
Written (belatedly) for SA Rare Ships Week 2016!





	

The afternoon was idyllic. The breeze was easy and warm, rustling the leaves of the trees overhead and causing dappled shadows and flecks of warm sunlight to dance across Melchior’s skin. The lingering scent of yesterday’s rain still clung to the earth beneath him. Melchior sighed. He wished that his own thoughts were so easy, and that he himself were so blithe and untroubled.

He had spent over an hour the night before studying with Moritz, helping his friend with the Greek translations that they had been assigned. Earlier this afternoon, the students had been given an oral exam to test their understanding of what they had read. When Moritz’s turn came and Herr Sonnenstich wrote the sentence he was to translate on the chalkboard, Moritz had given a fairly accurate translation, and Melchior had been so proud of him. There was only one problem; Moritz had signed his translation rather than spoken it. Herr Sonnenstich struck Moritz on the hand with his cane and insisted that he speak his translation aloud. Melchior watched as his friend winced in pain, punished in spite of the fact that he had studied so hard and understood the material. It was at this point that Melchior, provoked by such unfairness, had risen from his chair to defend the accuracy of Moritz’s translation.

“Sir, the translation is in fact correct. _For if any man thinks that he is wise, that only he can think or speak well, you’ll see his breath is empty._ Which seems to me to be a relevant commentary even today.” Melchior had not resisted that final jibe, his emphasis on the word _today_ making it clear that he referred to the present moment and to the wisdom of their teacher.

Herr Sonnenstich flushed a deep red, and he turned to Melchior with a scowl. For a second, his teacher seemed about to stride across the classroom to chastise him. Then, however, Herr Sonnenstich's expression changed, as if he had reconsidered and found a more satisfying course of action. His stern gaze returned to Moritz. “Hold out your hand, Herr Stiefel.” He grasped Moritz’s hand and pulled it out in front of him, palm flat and facing upward. Melchior gasped aloud as Herr Sonnenstich struck Moritz’s hand again. He could not help but to protest.

“Sir! It wasn’t Moritz who corrected you. He has nothing to do with this, please--!”

_Thwack!_ Again the rod came down on Moritz’s hand. And again. Moritz’s eyes were shut tightly as he winced with every blow. Herr Sonnenstich finally addressed Melchior. “Herr Gabor, do not presume that everything revolves around you. I am correcting Herr Stiefel in the hopes that he will learn to work harder and to speak for himself, rather than leaving his delinquent friend to make excuses for him.” _Thwack!_ Melchior could only stare down at the floor, his eyes burning as though he might cry despite not having received a single blow himself.

After the exam had finished and class was dismissed for the day, Melchior rushed up to Moritz as soon as the boys were out the door. He was babbling apologies, his fist moving in emphatic circles against his breast. _I’m sorry, I’m so sorry._ Moritz assured him that he need not feel guilty; he appreciated that Melchior had tried to defend him, even if it had backfired. As Moritz signed, Melchior noticed the stiffness in his right hand, and his heart sank in his chest. He took Moritz’s hand in his, turning it palm up. Several thin red stripes were still visible across the pale skin.

Melchior felt heavy with guilt, so much so that he could no longer bear to talk to Moritz. He excused himself from walking his friend the rest of the way home, suddenly remembering that he had promised to buy bread for his Mama. Moritz had smiled sadly at him, but had waved goodbye to Melchior to walk home alone. Once he was out of Moritz’s sight, Melchior turned and made his way to the woods, where he had been sitting in his guilt ever since.

Melchior was so lost in his thoughts that he hardly registered the footsteps coming up behind him, and was startled when a voice addressed itself to him.

“Melchior Gabor. I’ve seen that look on your face before.”

Melchior tried to act composed, inclining his head only slightly to look up at his newly arrived companion. He waved his hand to shoo the other boy away. “Go, Hänschen, just go.” But Hänschen didn't move; it was clear to Melchior that he wouldn’t leave unless Melchior was willing to talk to him. “I’m just stuck in my head, okay?” He sighed, “I need to stop thinking.”

Hänschen’s foot nudged at Melchior’s thigh as he teased, “But that’s always the case.”

Melchior rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Some help you are.”

Hänschen sat down beside Melchior on the grass, his voice more gentle now. “So, what are you stuck on?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Is it about what happened in class?”

There was a pause, long enough that Hänschen knew he had hit the nail on the head. Melchior sighed, finally turning to look at him. “Do you ever wonder if standing up for the things you care about is worth it? How much you’re really willing to sacrifice for your beliefs?”

Hänschen shook his head with a quiet laugh. “What’s it to me? I simply pretend to agree with them, and I get what I need. That’s how the world works, Melchior.” He rested a hand on Melchior's shoulder. “No sense in wasting your energy having an existential crisis over it.”

“I hurt him.”

“You did not. You had no control over Herr Sonnenstich’s behavior, only your own. You didn’t make him do anything; you couldn’t have made him do anything.”

“Moritz was punished for what I said! He didn’t deserve that.”

“So you feel guilty.”

For a few seconds, Melchior didn’t respond. Finally, he inclined his head slightly and muttered, “Yes.”

Hänschen nodded. “How do you propose to get out of your head, then?”

Melchior looked up, his eyes met Hänschen’s for a long moment. He bit his lip. “You’re here.”

“I am.”

There was another pause.  Melchior pursed his lips, and as rare as it was, he seemed unable to articulate his thoughts.  Wordlessly, he dragged his eyes down Hänschen’s body, then back up.  When his eyes returned to Hänschen’s face, he hesitated for a moment, then lunged forward and kissed him angrily.  All of Melchior’s frustration and guilt over what had happened at school was pushed aside in pursuit of feeling.

Hänschen responded quickly, kissing back with enthusiasm.  His hands slipped around Melchior’s waist and ran up to his shoulders, fingertips grazing firmly against him.  Melchior arched back into his roaming hands.

“Ah,” Hänschen commented, “out of your head and into your body?”  Melchior nodded, even as a deep, needy sound rose from the back of his throat.  Hänschen only grinned.  “I can help you with that.”  

Melchior laughed, his voice low and provocative.  “Oh, can you?”

“Mmhmm.” Hänschen hummed sensually into Melchior’s ear, then nipped at his earlobe.  While his teeth tugged gently at his ear, his fingers ran down Melchior’s back to grasp his ass in both hands.  At this, Melchior let out a full-throated moan and thrust his hips into Hänschen's hands, which only gripped harder to spread Melchior open.  He felt Hänschen’s hot breath against his ear, “I think I can.”

Hänschen kissed along Melchior's jawline, giving him a firm kiss when he arrived at his lips.  Melchior nudged against Hänschen's jaw, prompting him to open his mouth so that Melchior could slip his tongue inside.  He kissed like he needed it to breathe, his desperate tongue plunging into Hänschen's mouth and pressing against every slick surface.  Hänschen let out a quiet moan, then bit down lightly on Melchior’s tongue.  

Melchior exhaled sharply.  Pulling away from the kiss, he gasped, “Can we go… can we go somewhere more private?”  

Hänschen nodded.  “Let’s go to mine.”

It was a game they'd played before, comfortable and familiar.  When Melchior was stressed, when Hänschen had frustrations to work out, when either of them simply needed to feel something, the two of them would come together like this.  Melchior traded away control for the bliss of losing himself, and Hänschen gave what Melchior needed in exchange for what he himself wanted.  Afterwards they went back to being casual friends, if friendly rivals, bickering and picking at one another.  Perhaps it was to ease the tension between them; perhaps it was to build it up in anticipation of their next tryst.  

By the time they got to Hänschen’s bedroom, neither of them was interested in small talk.  Melchior had struggled to restrain himself the entire way, and Hänschen was more than ready to take Melchior apart.  Any touch at all would be gratifying now.

Today, it was Hänschen who acted first.  He grasped Melchior by the shoulders and shoved him down onto the bed.  Melchior gasped as he hit the mattress, his breath already quick with anticipation as Hänschen climbed up after him.  Melchior licked his lips as he watched Hänschen crawl over and position himself between his legs.  Finally, he would get what he wanted.

Now atop Melchior, Hänschen leaned down to kiss him.  Melchior grunted against his lips as his hands slipped under the hem of Hänschen’s shirt.  His fingertips skated across the hot skin beneath, running up Hänschen’s back and exposing more of his skin as they moved.  Hänschen sat up and began to unbutton his shirt.

"Just take it off."  When he'd undone the top few buttons, he lifted his arms and allowed Melchior to tug the shirt off over his head.  Immediately he dove back in, kissing and slipping his tongue between Melchior’ parted lips.  Their mouths moved together, Melchior's tongue slick and hot against his own.  Hänschen grunted and rocked his hips, grinding his dick against Melchior, who broke away from the kiss with a loud moan.  

“Ah, _shit_ that’s good--!”

_Slap!_  

Hänschen’s hand connected with Melchior’s cheek. “Watch your language, Gabor.”

Melchior glared at him, but it was unconvincing; he hadn't been able to disguise the moan that had issued immediately from his lips.  Hänschen watched with rapt attention as a handprint began to blossom across Melchior’s tender cheek.  Melchior’s chest heaved with a harsh breath, drawing Hänschen's attention to the fact that his shirt was still covering him.  He ran his hands up Melchior’s chest and skillfully began to unbutton it.

Melchior's eyes darkened with arousal, his lips flushed and parted as his breath came in short gasps.  Hänschen grinned down at him, savoring the desperation in his eyes, and started to unbutton the shirt more slowly.  He observed coolly as each new piece of skin was revealed, not allowing himself to touch just yet, teasing not only Melchior but also himself.  Watching Melchior's response was worth it.

Melchior twisted and turned beneath him, craving the warmth of Hänschen’s hands against his exposed skin.  He ached for it, the distraction of another body against his own.  Hänschen was teasing him.  Melchior arched his back toward those hands, in search of even a single brush of skin against skin.  “Please--!”

“Please what?”

Melchior tossed his head against the pillows.  “Just--just touch me.  I need… _nnnh_.”  His words trailed off into a whine.

As soon as Hänschen had undone the last button, he yanked Melchior’s shirt open.  His hands splayed across Melchior’s torso, brushing down over his stomach and then back up to grasp his chest.  Hänschen pinched and tugged at Melchior’s nipples, and Melchior’s chest rose up, chasing his teasing fingers.  “Ah!”  

Hänschen smiled, then bent down to take one of Melchior’s nipples into his mouth.  He swirled his tongue around it, once, twice, before biting down lightly.  Melchior let out a high pitched whine, and Hänschen hummed in satisfaction as he lapped at the bite, soothing the pain.  One hand groped at Melchior’s chest as he sucked while the other slipped down his body.  When he finally reached Melchior’s waistband, Hänschen looked up.  “May I?”

Melchior nodded hard, practically begging.  "Please."  That was all Hänschen needed to hear.  His hands went straight to Melchior’s fly and unfastened it, yanking Melchior’s pants down his generous thighs to rest just below his knees.  Hänschen ran the back of his fingernails up the inside of Melchior’s legs, brushing against the skin with just enough pressure to tease but not enough to satisfy.  

Melchior’s hips thrust upward, desperate for more of Hänschen’s touch.  A whine rose in the back of his throat.  “Come _on_ , Hans.”

The corner of Hänschen’s mouth twitched upward in a sadistic half-smile.  “What?  You want more?”  He reversed the direction of his hands, fingernails digging into the tender skin of Melchior’s inner thighs.  

Melchior hissed and his legs snapped together.  “You know that’s not what I meant.”  He took a few breaths to calm himself before continuing, “I need you to touch me.  No teasing.  Get me off, make me feel good.”  

Hänschen’s eyes narrowed, but the smile never left his face.  “Well, I can’t do much with you hiding from me like that.”  His hands grasped Melchior’s legs, pushing them apart.  “There we are.”  A hand slid up the inside of Melchior’s thigh, and when he reached the bulge in his underwear he pressed down and began to rub in small, firm circles.  Melchior squirmed beneath him, begging between breaths.

“God, ah, please please _please_ …”

The movement of Hänschen’s hand stilled.  He pulled away and instead started to trace his finger around the outline of Melchior’s erection, purring.  “Please what?  I’m not sure what you’re asking for.”

Melchior’s cheeks flushed darker, but even in his shame he was willing to beg.  “Please, just… just touch me.  I wanna feel you.  Please.”

Hänschen paused, his fingers tapping against Melchior's belly as he pretended to deliberate.  Melchior scowled beneath him, clearly frustrated, and Hänschen decided he had teased him enough for now.  “Hm.  I suppose that’s why we’re here.”  He brought his hand up to his mouth to coat his palm with saliva, then reached into Melchior’s underwear and began to stroke him in earnest.  His strokes were firm and his pace was steady.  

_Finally._  Melchior writhed and whimpered at the touch.  “Fuck!”

_Smack!_

“What did I say about your filthy mouth?”  

Melchior gasped aloud in shock.  Even as his cheek reddened, he couldn’t keep the smugness out of his tone.  “You like my filthy mouth.”

Hänschen shrugged noncommittally, his hand slowing its movements as he continued to stroke Melchior.  “Are you trying to tell me something?  Because I don’t like being told what to do.”

Melchior gave a single, harsh laugh.  “Not unless you’re sucking up, that is.”

Another _smack!_ , this time a backhand across Melchior’s right cheek.  “If I didn’t know any better,” said Hänschen as his breath hastened, “I’d think you’re a slut who enjoys being slapped.”

Melchior glared up at Hänschen, but had nothing to say; he couldn't argue.  Perhaps with the intention to get him to swear again--certainly not as a reward--Hänschen’s hand squeezed tighter, and he quickened his strokes.  Melchior’s cheeks reddened, even beneath the handprints, as he bit his lip.  Was he was trying to hold back a swear?  Was this some effort to prove to Hänschen that he didn’t enjoy being hit?  If it was, Hänschen wasn’t fooled.  But even Melchior’s attempt at silence didn’t earn him any favors.

Hänschen pulled away, causing a small whimper to escape Melchior’s throat; the boy was still trying not to make noise.  Cute.  Hänschen’s hand ruffled Melchior’s hair.  He pulled away, and Melchior whined for him to come back.  “Not yet.”  Hänschen knelt up and unfastened his own pants.  Melchior watched with rapt attention, still biting his lip.  As Hänschen’s pants and underwear were pushed down to reveal his cock, Melchior reached toward him with need in his eyes.  But Hänschen swatted his hand away.  “Patience.  I told you.”  He finished tugging his pants down and off, then kicked them aside before lunging back down at Melchior to kiss him, pressing their mouths together and opening his lips.

Melchior returned his enthusiasm, licking his way inside Hänschen’s mouth.  For a minute or two they moved together like this, the noises rising up from Melchior’s throat growing louder and more desperate.  Even Hänschen couldn’t entirely control himself, a moan escaping him at the slickness of Melchior’s tongue against his own.  Melchior traced along Hänschen’s teeth, then slipped between them to chase after his tongue.  Hänschen felt himself starting to lose his cool, starting to want, but he couldn’t let himself lose control just yet.  He bit down on Melchior's probing tongue, and when Melchior gasped and made to pull away, Hänschen kept ahold and gave a little tug before finally releasing him.  “Holy--” Melchior cut himself off.  “Jeez, Hänschen, your _teeth_.”

Hänschen smirked.  “What about them?”  He moved in and bit down hard on the juncture of Melchior’s neck and shoulder.  

“ _Fuck!_ ”  Melchior’s grip tightened on Hänschen’s shoulders, his fingers digging in as the sensation overwhelmed him.

Hänschen released Melchior's neck from between his teeth, and sat up on his knees.  Melchior knew the rules, and as usual, he had broken them.  Another harsh _slap!_ resounded through the room.  Melchior groaned, and let go of Hänschen to rub his stinging cheek.  Hänschen tutted.  “Tsk.  You really don’t know how to listen.  No wonder the teachers are so irritated by you.”  With both of their cocks now exposed, Hänschen gave a sharp thrust downward with his hips.  Melchior rocked his body up into Hänschen's, grinding against him and gasping at the sensation of skin against skin.  He wanted more, more, always _more_ , chasing the feeling even as he ran from his thoughts.  

Hänschen continued to thrust against Melchior, groaning at the press of their cocks between them.  Soon, even he felt it wasn’t enough.  His hand moved down to grasp them both, stroking them together and breathing the words Melchior was not allowed.  “Ah, you feel so fucking good.”  

This was not lost on Melchior.  “So _you_ can say it.”

Hänschen chuckled.  “Yes, I can.”

Hänschen’s hand grew slick with precome as he continued to stroke them.  His movements were practiced and true.  He and Melchior moved together, sliding one against the other with exquisite friction.  

Melchior could hardly take any more.  “God, Hans!  Just fuck me, just do it.”

Hänschen slapped him yet again, and the hand on their cocks stopped moving.  “That’s not asking very nicely, is it, Melchior?”

Melchior shook his head.  He was starting to feel hazy, the stinging in his cheek blissfully clearing his mind of everything that had weighed it down.  To stay here, free from worry, free from shame, he was willing to do whatever it took and to ask however Hänschen wanted him to.  “ _Please_.”  Hänschen made no reply, but his expression was clear: this wasn't enough.  “Please, I need you to fuck me.  I need it.”  Melchior thrust himself sharply into Hänschen’s fist to demonstrate his point, whining even at this small amount of stimulation.  He was no longer making any effort to stay quiet; maybe the sound of Melchior's need would make his plea more convincing.

At this, Hänschen grinned.  “I suppose there’s no one who deserves a good fucking as much as you.”  

Melchior sputtered.  But he couldn’t bring himself to deny it, for fear that Hänschen might not follow through.  His cheeks flushed dark, and he only nodded.  

This seemed to satisfy Hänschen, and he responded smugly, “I’d hate to deny you that.”  He pressed his lips against Melchior's for a few moments, then pulled away.  Before Melchior could complain, Hänschen explained, “I need to get the lubricant.”  Even so, Melchior whined at the loss of his touch, his warmth.  “I’ll be back in a second.  What, do you want me to hurt you?”  Melchior's eyes went wide.  Hänschen laughed, “Don’t answer that.”  

Melchior was flustered by this open acknowledgement of his masochism.  He glared after Hänschen, grumbling, “Hurry up, then.”

Hänschen moved quickly to his dresser, opening the bottom drawer and sorting through its contents until he found what he was looking for.  Taking the bottle, he closed the drawer and returned to the bed, then set it down beside Melchior’s head before taking hold of Melchior’s pants and underwear and tugging them the rest of the way off.  With his pants gone, Melchior lay splayed out on the bed, his legs falling to either side of him and his unbuttoned shirt spread open.  

Hänschen paused for a second to take in the sight, before positioning himself back between Melchior’s spread legs.  He slid his hand from Melchior’s knee down the inside of his leg, then stopped to grasp the thickest part of his thigh, squeezing and massaging there.  

“Hans, please…”  Melchior took hold of Hänschen’s wrist, tugging it toward himself and encouraging his hand upward.  “Touch me, c’mon,” he whined.

Hänschen shook his head and pulled his hand away.  “Tsk. Needy.”  His hands moved to Melchior’s knees and began to push them apart.  

Melchior whimpered as he felt himself becoming more and more exposed, but he made no effort to close his legs.  He knew what he needed to do if he wanted Hänschen to touch him; he needed to listen and to do as he was told.  Like this, he couldn’t hide his arousal as his cock grew thicker against his belly.  Hänschen’s hands slid down the inside of his thighs, pressing them open wider and wider, and Melchior’s entire body seemed to flush red.  He felt so naked.  But maybe this was what Melchior needed, to be opened up and broken into pieces.  Maybe he needed to be seen for everything he was, and still found redeemable.  Maybe he needed to be found not wanting, even as he so desperately wanted.  Melchior found some small comfort in the knowledge that Hänschen must see something in him, something worthwhile, otherwise he wouldn’t waste his time with him.  

Hänschen’s hands reached Melchior's ass, and now Hänschen was spreading him open.  “Cute,” he chuckled.  “You don’t let many people see you like this, do you?  So exposed.”  He traced a finger around Melchior’s rim, then slowly pressed the tip of it inside him.  “Is that why you were so defensive about the Sophocles translation?  Your fear that if you do open up to someone, they’ll find you empty.”

It seemed cruel to Melchior to hit him in such a raw spot.  He scowled and snapped at Hänschen, “Jesus, stop talking and fuck me already!”  Melchior felt Hänschen pull the tip of his finger out of his body, and he winced in anticipation of another slap.  His eyes shut tightly and his body jerked away, but the blow never came.  

Instead, he felt the finger return to circling his entrance, teasing around the rim but never quite satisfying him.  Then came Hänschen’s mocking response, “Ah yes, I forget myself.  It’s your job to be the one who won’t shut up.”  Melchior squirmed, desperate to finally have something inside him.  It was _so close_.  Hänschen’s voice was unctuous as he continued to circle his finger around Melchior.  “Patience.  I don’t want to hurt you.”

Melchior hissed in frustration, as if he really had been hurt.  He reached over to pick up the bottle of lubricant to hand it to Hänschen.  “That’s what this is for.”

“You don’t say.”  Hänschen took the bottle, uncapping it and spilling some onto his fingers.  His fingertips returned to brushing against Melchior’s hole, every so often pressing in a fingertip to tease him.  Melchior let out a loud whine every time he felt Hänschen’s finger slip inside him.  It still wasn’t enough; it was never enough.  He needed to be taken, he needed to be filled.  He needed to feel, and nothing else.

“Nnnngh, please Hans.  Fucking _please_.”  His language earned Melchior a slap to his thigh with Hänschen’s free hand, and it stung him but not enough.  It could have hurt Melchior much more and he would still be desperate for it.  The pain was satisfying, in a way; it felt good and right.  He deserved someone to hurt him after what he had done to Moritz.  Melchior was drifting into his thoughts again, and that was no good.

Hänschen noticed the difference in Melchior's demeanor, and resolved to bring him back.  “Hmph.  That wasn’t much of a reaction,” he commented as he finally began to press a finger into Melchior in earnest.  “Do you prefer being slapped in the face?”

Melchior was pulled back into the present by the movement of Hänschen's finger inside him, and he registered the feeling with a gasp and a squirm of his hips.  When he heard Hänschen's question, he flushed again, his self-consciousness having returned along with his thoughts.  But even as he was being dragged out of his rational mind, Melchior still knew what he needed.  He responded to Hänschen's question with a quiet hum of assent.  “Mmhmm.”

Hänschen nodded to show that he understood what was being asked of him.  He drew back his hand and slapped Melchior's face, harder than before.

“Ah!”  Melchior gasped, and he could feel his skin turning red as the sharp sting spread across his cheek.  The pain and the impact shocked him out of his thoughts and back into the moment.  There it was, what he was searching for.  He keened, then said in a whisper, “ _Please._ ”  Hänschen slapped him again, on his other cheek.  

A whimper rose from deep in Melchior’s throat.  His eyes darkened as he sunk deeper into pure sensation.  He could feel Hänschen’s finger slipping in and out of his body, faster and faster.  It wasn’t enough, it wasn’t nearly enough, but it was something to fill him, something to feel.  It was a promise that the things he wanted were still to come.  Even just one finger was causing Melchior to whimper in pleasure.  

“That good, hm?”  This was all the warning Hänschen gave before sliding a second finger into Melchior alongside the first, stretching him further.  In his surprise, a loud moan ripped from Melchior’s throat, prompting Hänschen to press a finger to his lips.  “Shut the fuck up, Melchior.”  Hänschen's hand gave a single hard thrust, then began to move at a more steady pace.  Soon he was fucking Melchior on his fingers, hungrily taking in the expressions of pleasure playing across his face and the noises spewing forth from his lips.  

Melchior tossed his head against the pillow as Hänschen's fingers filled him, gasping as he was finally given sensation that he needed.  The slick press of Hänschen’s fingers inside him was a welcome distraction, stroking him and stretching him in his most sensitive places.  Each thrust caused him to cry out, the intensity of the sensation rendering him unable to stay quiet even if he had wanted to.

Still keeping up the rhythm of his hand, Hänschen leaned in to nip at Melchior’s ear.  “Beautiful,” he breathed, and Melchior whined in response.  Hänschen then turned his attention to the sensitive skin of Melchior's neck, scattering small bites from his jawline all the way down to his collarbone.  Melchior's fingers curled into the sheets, and he tilted his head to let Hänschen have his way.

“More!  More, more please…”  He trailed off into incoherent noises that may have once been words, but were now involuntary sounds of pleasure.

Hänschen nodded, and slid a third finger in alongside the first two.  Melchior writhed beneath him as he continued to thrust in earnest.  “How’s that?”

Melchior groaned.  “More.  _Fuck_ , please, more, I need it.”

This earned Melchior a harsh slap to the face.  “Need what?”  

Melchior was now desperate beyond shame.  “Need your cock.  Inside me.  Please.”

Hänschen’s hand moved faster, fucking him harder.  “But then my fingers would have to come out.  You’d be empty while I get myself ready for you.  Can you handle that?”

Melchior nodded emphatically.  

Hänschen’s free hand slapped him lightly, affectionately on the cheek. “Slut.”

Melchior’s blush darkened, but he nodded again.  The nod was subtle, but it did not escape Hänschen’s notice, and he couldn't resist a smug smile at Melchior's desperation.  He pulled his fingers away slowly, curling them upward as he slipped them out.  

Melchior whined at the sudden emptiness, but he trusted that Hänschen would satisfy him.  This game they played was familiar; they had practiced the moves, and they knew the stakes.  Hänschen wanted a good fuck, and Melchior wanted to get fucked.  Hänschen wanted the satisfaction of having turned Melchior into this; Melchior wanted to get out of his own head, to give up thinking in order to simply feel.  This was no longer about teasing him, Melchior knew, it was about Hänschen satisfying himself.  Hänschen wanted to fuck him now, and if Melchior, too, found pleasure in this, so much the better.  

Hänschen poured out more of the lubricant onto his hand, then stroked himself to coat himself with it.  Melchior lifted his head, biting his lip as he watched Hänschen preparing to fuck him.  His body was taut with anticipation, so ready to feel that hot, slick length inside him.  Just watching Hänschen’s hand slowly work the oil over his prick was driving him mad.  It was so tempting to reach for him and try to touch, but Melchior knew better.  If he wasn’t patient, he may get nothing.  

After what seemed like ages to Melchior, Hänschen got between his legs.  One hand cupped the underside of Melchior’s knee and pressed it up toward his torso to give Hänschen better access to the places he needed.  Melchior was quick to cooperate, lifting his other leg so that Hänschen would have a hand free to guide himself.  Once the head of Hänschen’s cock had found Melchior's entrance, he pressed himself inside with a grunting gasp, stretching Melchior and filling his most intimate places.  Melchior hissed as he felt Hänschen slowly sink into him.  Hänschen’s teasing had served him well; he was slick and loose.  When Hänschen was in as deep as he could go, he finally paused.  

Melchior groaned.  “Yes.  Ah, god, yes.”

Hänschen wiped his hand on the shirt he had discarded; it would be easier to wash than his bedsheets.  Letting go of Melchior’s thigh, he braced himself with his hands on either side of him.  He began to roll his hips into Melchior in a slow and steady rhythm, and his breathing set a pace to match.  God, this felt good.  Melchior was slick and hot, tempting Hänschen to move faster, but he knew that if he controlled himself and took his time now it would pay off later.

Melchior gasped as his head arched back into the pillow, his face contorted in pleasure.  He clung to Hänschen, legs wrapping around his waist and pulling him in deeper as his fingers dug into the firm muscles of his shoulders.  Melchior used his legs to rock his hips into each thrust, pressing Hänschen as deeply into himself as he could make him go.  The feeling was intense, the slap of Hänschen's hips against his ass and the smooth glide of his cock inside him, finally filling him up.  His legs tightened their grip at Hänschen’s sides as he tried to move faster, the muscles in his thighs taut as they worked him up and down.  

But Hänschen stopped moving.  “Don’t just take.  Tell me what you need.”

Melchior was short of breath and could only reply between pants.  “Faster.  Harder.  Anything.”  His voice held a quivering note of desperation.

Hänschen nodded.  “Like this?”  He took hold of Melchior’s wrists, stretching his arms above his head and pinning them down, now able to rest all his weight on his hands to support himself and to keep Melchior in place.  With this angle, Hänschen began to thrust into Melchior in earnest.

Melchior writhed beneath Hänschen, struggling against him but not truly trying to escape the hold on his wrists.  He couldn’t keep himself quiet, one moan after another spilling from his lips.  The feeling of Hänschen filling him up, the friction of Hänschen inside him, the pounding of Hänschen’s hips against his ass were finally enough.  He was blissfully overwhelmed as his entire body was reduced to the physical, able to let go of everything he had done in favor of what was being done to him.

Hänschen paused his thrusting to transfer both of Melchior’s wrists to one hand.  With his other hand now free, Hänschen growled and dragged his fingernails down Melchior’s torso, leaving dark pink lines in the soft flesh.  When he had run his fingers as far as they could go, Hänschen reached between Melchior’s legs and took hold of his cock.  He could no longer fuck him as hard while supporting himself with one arm, but he began to stroke Melchior in time with his thrusts, which, judging by the sounds issuing from his mouth, seemed to be satisfactory.  

“Is this what you need?”  Beneath this guise of concern, Hänschen’s tone was patronizing.

Melchior nodded, breathing out a “yeah” between gasps.  At this point, he could no longer bring himself to care and had given up any semblance of control.  It was up to Hänschen to give; Melchior could only take, could only feel.

Hänschen nodded and continued to stroke Melchior, but now he slowed the speed of his thrusts and with it the pace of his hand.  He was moving gently, teasing Melchior as he waited for him to say aloud the words Hänschen wanted to hear.  Hänschen loved seeing Melchior come apart, he loved being able to take on his friendly rival and feel as though he had won even here, in bed.  He saw Melchior scowl at his decrease in speed.  “Like this?”

Melchior responded with an urgency which bordered on anger.  "Just fuck me! Be rough with me, make me forget. I don't want to think about anything else."

Hänschen lightly smacked his cheek again.  “So demanding.”  He gave Melchior a few sharp thrusts, his pace slow but as hard and deep as he could go, eliciting a loud moan each time his hips met Melchior’s ass.  “As usual, you think you know what you need.  And as usual, you’re off the mark.”  Hänschen leaned in for a kiss, pressing his lips firmly against Melchior’s.  As he pulled away, Melchior caught hold of his bottom lip and bit down hard.  As much as Hänschen enjoyed this, unable to hold back a groan of his own, he knew what Melchior was after, and so he let go of Melchior’s cock again to slap him harder.  Melchior whimpered, his hips jerking up into the emptiness, and Hänschen was satisfied that he’d read him correctly.  His thrusts became faster now, his pace more steady.

Melchior was at Hänschen's mercy.  His feet kicked uselessly against the bedsheets, his toes curling in pleasure as he tried to get traction, but this did him no good.  His friend was right; he really was needy.  No matter how much he was given, it was never enough.  Unable to get a hold on the sheets, Melchior again wrapped his legs around Hänschen’s waist, his muscles tensing as he pulled him in closer, deeper.

As his legs tightened around Hänschen’s body, Melchior's fingers clawed at his neck and back, nails scraping across the skin and sinking in wherever they could get traction.  With one hand he clung to Hänschen’s shoulder, while the other slid up the back of Hänschen’s neck to tangle his fingers in that perfect blond hair.  Once he’d gotten a good grip, Melchior tugged sharply, drawing a hiss from Hänschen.  But Hänschen was unfazed; he grinned and leaned in closer, his breath hot against Melchior’s neck as he purred, “Mm, is that something you want?”

“Yes.”  Hänschen obliged immediately, burying his fingers into Melchior’s soft, dark hair and tugging just hard enough to make Melchior hiss in pleasure and close his eyes.  Hänschen gripped tighter as he began to thrust faster and faster, the desperate sounds that issued from Melchior's lips pulling him closer and closer to orgasm. There was no way of knowing whether the noises were from Hänschen’s renewed pace or the hands tangled in his hair, but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he took Melchior apart.  “Ah!  Yes, yes, shit, please…”  Hänschen kissed him hard to stop the constant flow of words, but still Melchior whimpered against Hänschen’s lips.

This time, it was Hänschen who pulled away from the kiss to moan.  He braced himself on his elbows and began to thrust urgently into Melchior, hard and fast.  Melchior threw his head back and groaned, anticipating that Hänschen would come inside him soon.

But Hänschen suddenly slowed his thrusts and pulled out.  Melchior leaned up with a lopsided expression, half blissed-out and half annoyed.  “What the _fuck_ , Hänschen?”

Hänschen felt smug that he was the one who got to wreck Melchior like this, he was the one who got to make a mess of Melchior and clear away the clutter, he was the one who could withhold from Melchior what he wanted.  It seemed to Hänschen that the boy needed a lesson or two in delayed gratification.  He tapped Melchior's cheek, too lightly to be called a slap but firmly enough for him to feel it.  “You never do learn.”

Melchior huffed.  “Then maybe you should teach--.”

Hänschen stuck two fingers into Melchior’s mouth, forcing him to shut up.  “Patience.  Trust me, I’m going to give you something you like.”  With his free hand he began to stroke himself in earnest, close enough to the edge from having fucked Melchior that he knew he didn’t have long to go.  Hänschen was startled as Melchior suddenly began to suck and swirl his tongue around his fingers, and the feeling of that hot, practiced mouth was all it took.  His fist moved sporadically, his body twitching as he spent himself over Melchior.  He kept stroking himself for as long as he could stand, wanting to cover Melchior with as much of his come as possible, for Melchior's satisfaction as well as his own.

Melchior was indeed pleased at the feeling of Hänschen’s come all over him.  He could feel the heat of it glancing off his skin and spattering across his torso, and he indulged himself in the thought of being defiled like this.  But as satisfied as he was, Melchior still hadn’t come.  He whimpered around Hänschen’s fingers as he glanced down at his painfully hard cock, then back up at Hänschen.  

Hänschen looked down at Melchior, grinning.  “You know, I actually miss you making noise.  I have to say, I’m surprised.”  He took his fingers out of Melchior’s mouth.

Immediately, Melchior started begging.  “Please, please just touch, god, I need it so much, come on, come on…”

“What?”  Hänschen scoffed.  “You want to come?  You think you deserve it?”  He traced a finger through the come spattered across Melchior, swirling it into spontaneous patterns.  This only seemed to taunt him more.

“ _Please._ ”  Melchior dragged out the word, almost a whimper.  Hänschen was touching him, but not enough.  Not the right way.  He needed more, he always needed more.  All he ever did was take, and take, and take; how could he expect to be any different here?  

“You _are_ asking much more nicely than before,” Hänschen conceded.  His hand scraped across Melchior, scooping some of the come off Melchior’s chest to coat his hand before finally reaching for his dick.  Melchior breathed a contented sigh as the hand began to stroke him.  Hänschen wasn’t teasing anymore; he'd gotten what he wanted, and his goal was now to get Melchior off.   His free hand scratched its nails down the side of Melchior’s thigh, causing him to buck his hips up into Hänschen’s fist as he made a pleasured noise.

Enjoying the sounds he was drawing forth, Hänschen leaned down to trail wet kisses up Melchior’s neck as he continued to stroke him.  When he reached Melchior’s ear, he whispered in a lascivious voice, “Look at how needy you are.  You’re lucky I indulge you, it’s more than you deserve.”  Melchior keened, a sharp sound from the back of his throat.  “But then, even hurting you seems to please you.  I honestly don’t know what I’d have to do to punish someone like you.”

Perhaps this was prodding at the same sore spot that had gotten them here, but Hänschen knew that this was where Melchior could face himself, this was where Melchior could hear such things and move past them.  He knew this shame was fresh, but that was precisely why he wanted to press there.  Hänschen also knew that Melchior needed pain to ground him again.  He bit down hard on Melchior’s ear, causing him to cry out, then licked at where his teeth had been to soothe away the pain.

Melchior’s moans and whimpers grew even higher in pitch.  “Ahhh, I can’t--I need--!”

“You really can’t shut up to save your life.”  Hänschen feigned weariness, as if he were tired of Melchior’s noises.  “I suppose I’ll have to make you.”  He kissed Melchior, open-mouthed, and soon felt Melchior's tongue moving to brush against his.  Now Hänschen could feel as well as hear the sounds Melchior was making.  Melchior’s fingers wound themselves into his hair and pulled him into a deeper kiss, tilting his head to fit their mouths together.  Hänschen grunted in pleasure, and he started to thrust his tongue into Melchior’s mouth as he stroked him, a reminder of how his cock had felt.  

Hänschen knew how to read his friend's body, and he could tell that Melchior was getting closer and closer.  He felt the tension in his muscles, the desperation in his movements, the hastening of his breath, and decided it was finally time to stop teasing.  He began to stroke Melchior in earnest, a twist of his wrist as it passed over the head of his cock, now making a real effort to bring him to orgasm.

Melchior whined and thrashed against the bed.  Hänschen hadn't used any lubricant other than his come, and and his strokes had begun to feel rough against the sensitive skin.  But it was not strictly pleasure Melchior sought; he was chasing the intensity of experience, of any sensation at all.  To be present in his own body.  To escape the weight of his thoughts.  Hänschen knew how to catch him, how to pull him to the ground, and how to drag him to the edge.  Ah, here it was, here it was--!

Melchior’s hips jerked upward once, twice, three times, as he spilled himself over Hänschen's hand.  When he was finally spent, his body slumped back into the sheets.  Melchior was panting hard, trembling as he came back down from the orgasmic high.

Hänschen let go of Melchior’s cock and kissed him briefly on the mouth, then flopped down onto his back beside him.  Making himself comfortable, he turned to observe Melchior, watching as Melchior’s breathing slowed and his eyes fell closed.  They often took some time like this to catch their breath and come back down, Hänschen paying careful attention to Melchior just in case something had gone amiss.  

Once Hänschen's own breathing had slowed, he rolled over onto his side, taking his discarded shirt and again wiping his hand clean.  He then made an effort to wipe the mess off of Melchior, who made a disgruntled noise at being cleaned up.  “Oh, stop whining.  You’re not going to make a mess of my bedsheets.”

Melchior scowled as he rolled onto his back in acquiescence, his expression tired but satiated.  “‘Fuck your bedsheets.”  

Hänschen dragged his fingers up Melchior’s neck to lift his chin.  “When I could be fucking you?  That isn’t nearly as much fun.”  He kissed him, then purred, “The bedsheets aren’t desperate sluts.”  

“Hmph.”  But Melchior was smiling a loose, contented smile.  

Hänschen regarded him with affection.  He gave Melchior a tap on the cheek, but finished wiping up the mess on his chest before discarding the dirty shirt onto the floor.  Hänschen lay back, resting his head on a pillow and allowing his eyes to fall shut as he felt himself unwind.

Hänschen was surprised by a warm weight suddenly spreading itself across his chest.  He opened his eyes and found Melchior’s arm stretched across his torso, his head resting on Hänschen’s chest as he tucked himself beneath his arm.  Melchior seemed mindful of nothing, humming happily as he snuggled into a comfortable position against Hänschen.

This wasn’t something Hänschen was used to.  Most of the time, a fuck was a fuck.  Afterward, they would catch their breath, and after some perfunctory small talk Melchior would dress himself and leave.  It was unexpected, but Hänschen decided that if this was something Melchior needed, he may as well give it to him.  After all, Hänschen himself didn’t mind it too much.  His hand moved up to stroke through Melchior’s hair, petting his head.

“Needy boy,” he murmured into Melchior’s ear.  Melchior adjusted his position again, snuggling up against him still.

“Mmhmm.”

**Author's Note:**

> The translation Moritz is given is from Sophocles's _Antigone_ , Lines 707-709:  
> ὅστις γὰρ αὐτὸς ἢ φρονεῖν μόνος δοκεῖ, / ἢ γλῶσσαν, ἣν οὐκ ἄλλος, ἢ ψυχὴν ἔχειν, / οὗτοι διαπτυχθέντες ὤφθησαν κενοί.  
>   
> The title comes from R.C. Jebb's 1891 translation of the same lines: _For if any man thinks that he alone is wise—that in speech or in mind he has no peer—such a soul, when laid open, is always found empty._


End file.
